November's Window
by JuniperGentle
Summary: As the silent winter draws in, and the skies darken with clouds, there is one night which is still filled with light and noise. So the highest window in the house stands open on Guy Fawkes' Night, no matter how cold or wet it is, for this is England's time for celebration, even if there is another in the house who won't stop asking questions about this strange day...


_I'm sure there's been numerous other fics about this particular event, but decided to try my own take on things. A bit late, I guess, but I only had the idea at eight pm local time._

_I've seen hundreds of fics where England watches the fireworks in July at America's house, so figured it was about time that he returned the favour... sort of._

* * *

**November's Window**

"What the hell? It's freezing up here!"

England turned so fast that he only narrowly avoided whacking his head on the window frame. "America, have you never heard of knocking?"

The other blonde gave him a rather incredulous look. "Dude. This is _my_ room."

"In _my _house. In _my_ country. On _my _side of the Atlantic, which is that big expanse of water on your east coast, if you didn't know."

America folded his arms and scowled. "Not funny. And what're you doing in my room anyway – and why are you on my bed?"

Now it was England's turn to glare and quietly thank all the fae that guarded his house that France was nowhere nearby. "I get the best view from here."

"Yeah, and it's flippin' arctic in here! You've got the window open!"

He had a point. The open window was letting in all of the November cold, laced with the scent of smoke and gunpowder that always filled this night, and with the news of the year's first (light and oh-so-quickly melted) snowfall. But without the ancient spun-glass rippling the light, it was much easier to fully appreciate the beauty that filled the sky.

England was indeed sitting on America's bed – technically, of course, it was the spare bed in the top room of the house, but temporarily America's – and watching as his people set off explosion after explosion in back gardens and parks all across the city. From this room in the attic, he could see for miles and watch however many hundreds of fireworks arc gracefully into the night. All across his country, similar lights were rising, releasing clouds of smoke that were lit from beneath by the flames of thousands of bonfires. It was one of his favourite nights of the year.

And now there was an American interrupting it.

America came over to the bed as red and green stars sent their light scattering across the night, and perched next to England. "Is this just to make up for the fact that you're _so old_ that you can't remember when your birthday is any more?"

"Shut up. No." England scowled. "What are you doing up here anyway? I thought I left you watching the telly downstairs."

America just laughed. "Hahaha, you did! But then these fireworks were getting way too noisy, so I came to get my headphones."

"Then get them and go." England turned back to the night just as a brilliant rocket exploded, leaving trails and sparkles that looked like a gigantic tree in full leaf. "Oooohh."

But it appeared that America had no intention of leaving. Instead, he hopped up onto the bed and settled down next to England, propping his elbows on the windowsill and staring blankly at the fireworks going off outside.

"It doesn't feel right," he muttered. "It's so cold, but there's all these sparklers going off. Celebrating with fireworks needs to be done outside, with barbecues and hot dogs and burgers and stuff. Summer stuff!"

"Can't I have one day to celebrate in the beginning of winter?" England asked, tearing his eyes away from the display outside to glare at his companion, not quite sure if the question was rhetorical or not. "One day to enjoy the bonfire for the heat as well as the light?"

America was the one to frown this time. "Well, if you put it that way... but it rains in winter! Then the bonfire won't light!"

A series of huge explosions from several large fireworks disguised England's startled laugh. "Unless you hadn't noticed, America, it rains in summer too. Today's the first really nice day I've had in weeks. Don't you _dare_ spoil it."

England had a very good point. For the first time in what felt like years, the sky was completely clear, with tiny stars peeking out of the night between the nearer, brighter stars of the fireworks. It meant it was much colder, yes, but seeing the sun had wrought wonders on everyone's mood – and it had helped that it meant all the bonfires and fireworks could be let off safely.

"It's just not the sort of thing I'd ever do." Changing the subject, America leant on the windowsill, watching another fireburst colour the sky with silver droplets. "You're celebrating that someone _failed_ to do something. That's just... boring. And weird."

If he had been looking at England, he would have seen the much older nation rolling his eyes. "It is _not."_

"Explain," the American challenged. "Why not celebrate something that _succeeded _rather than something that went wrong by chance?"

Doing his best to suppress the temptation to throw America out of the conveniently open window and continue to enjoy the night on his own, England tilted his head back to watch a particularly impressive rocket soar and explode. "Just for a moment, America, imagine that someone managed to blow up the White House, whilst your President and the First Lady were there. Then imagine that whoever it was also managed to destroy all of your government – Congress, the Senate, whatever. All of it – oh, and probably the Statue of Liberty too. Imagine what that would feel like to you, as a nation." When America's expression had changed to one of suitably horrified terror, England continued, "Tonight is about celebrating that something pretty similar to that _didn't_ happen to me."

_Remember, remember._

_The fifth of November._

Hah. As if he could ever forget.

"Forget about Democrats and Republicans – the big fight back then was between the Catholics and the Protestants. Whichever one was on the throne, there would be conspiracies and plots to get whichever heir was the opposite onto that same throne as soon as possible. It was all a bit daft, if you ask me, so I tried not to get too involved." He sighed. "Not that it worked very well."

"And that guy Fawkes tried to blow up Parliament, right? Is that why Dumbledore's phoenix is called Fawkes?"

Blinking at the complete non-sequitur, England had to think for a second. "I guess so," he hedged at last. "I never thought of that. I guess they both explode into flames at regular intervals, so yes."

America shook his head. "You've got some really _strange_ writers. But this guy, Fawkes, did he really try to kill your boss?"

"He didn't try to do it," England sighed. He was fed up of explaining this. "Guy Fawkes was just _caught_ there. It wasn't his idea originally – he was one of the conspirators. It's just that he was the one caught and named so he's the famous one."

"And you burn him again every year? Because that's weird even by your standards."

England shrugged. "We do _occasionally_ update with the times. It depends where you are. It was Hitler one year. And anyway, it's actually a legal requirement. I'm bound by law to celebrate it."

America blew out a long breath that smoked in the crisp air. It really was getting very cold now, England noticed, and the fireworks were becoming fewer and farther between. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to shut the window soon and go downstairs to warm up. Of course, America's room would be pretty chilly for a while, but there was always the television to entertain him whilst England made tea.

But it seemed that America's line of questioning wasn't over yet. "Fawkes was going to kill all of your government _and himself _just because he wanted someone else to be in charge? Dude, that's crazy."

And _that_ was just absurd. "Speak for yourself. Exactly how many bosses have you had assassinated now?"

"Only four!"

"Exactly. I, on the other hand, have only had _one_ actually assassinated." England knew that he sounded far too smug about that fact, but it was true. "It's the same sort of thing, except that it didn't work very well. If it had, maybe the civil war would have been earlier. Maybe it wouldn't have happened at all. I'll never know. Either way, everything would have been different."

America seemed to be thinking carefully about something, a fascinating procedure that England could see clearly on his face. Eventually, the taller blonde said "Then I'm really glad they didn't blow you up."

"I should think so too," England grumbled, turning back to the final arcing glitters in the sky. "Goodness only knows how _you_ would have turned out then... you'd probably have been France's and I really don't think I could handle that."

America grinned.

"So... as I came to this Firework Night thingy, would you come to my birthday party next year? Then you can see how you're _supposed _to do it!"

"_What?"_


End file.
